


Finding the Rhythm

by kiroiimye, wasabi (octocelot)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boy Band, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Fame, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25097371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiroiimye/pseuds/kiroiimye, https://archiveofourown.org/users/octocelot/pseuds/wasabi
Summary: Sugawara Koushi, Akaashi Keiji, Oikawa Tooru, and Semi Eita were all in a band that broke up a few years ago and they're reuniting again for a final reunion concert.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10
Collections: SportsFest 2020 Main Round 1





	Finding the Rhythm

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

**_The Star Daily_ **

_One Set Announces Reunion Concert_

  
One Set, remembered for their hits like “Festival Love” and “Five from Twelve,” announced they will be doing a final reunion concert yesterday. The boy band disbanded in 2011, citing artistic differences, despite having had one of their most successful years. Fans have been brokenhearted for five years, but One Set’s reunion concert for charity has brought them back to full force.

* * *

**Semi**

“Been a while, hasn’t it?” 

Semi gazes around the old rehearsal space, heart slamming in his chest as he takes in the room. Not much has changed since they were teenagers—no, not much has changed since they left the rehearsal space for good. 

It had originally been an old warehouse for imports, with crates stacked against the walls and wooden planks lining the floors. When they first formed the band, they had borrowed money to buy out the space to use, and _hell,_ it had been an experience to clean. 

Semi can still recall the first month in the warehouse: scrubbing out the dust, throwing the crates into the nearest dumpster, Suga making them lunches to eat while they clean, Oikawa’s Great Soap Incident, Akaashi napping in a crate with his earbuds when they got too loud. 

He can barely resist a grin at the resurfacing memories: those had been good times. 

Suga, at his side, takes a step towards one of the walls and brushes his fingers against a series of paint splatters, the colors still vibrant against the grayed room. “It still looks bright and fresh,” he says. “Just as if we filmed the music video yesterday.”

Ah, the music video. Semi vividly recalls it: the sheer amount of paint buckets they had bought for a color-themed music video, and the idiotic amount of paint they wasted by throwing it at each other instead of...whatever they meant to do (he can barely recall the purpose of the paint anymore, but he can still hear Akaashi’s laughter as he dumps a can over Oikawa, whose screech is loud enough to be heard from across the city, Suga’s wide grin as he slaps Semi’s ass and marks him with orange paint, and the cold touch of paint against his sun-battered skin). 

“Well, no one else has been in here since we broke up.” Akaashi ambles in, with Oikawa at his side and Semi’s heart lurches at how <em> _different </em> _they all look (it’s a cold reset to reality because even though the warehouse hasn’t changed, it’s a reminder that they all have).

Akaashi no longer looks the part of a boyband member—instead, he looks more serious: his pale skin heavy set with dark eyebags, rounded spectacles, and a collared shirt with black trousers. His hair is even ruffled a different way, almost an unintended mess instead of the deliberately mussed hair he used to sport back in their boyband days. 

Oikawa walks like a model, like the superstar that he always has been. He’s always had the most star power out of any of them, and Semi knows that he’s more or less left the atypical boyband scene, in exchange for the world of idols and pop stars. His hair is an artful mess, similar to the style he had worn before, and he’s dressed in shimmery jackets and silk blouses. He _radiates_ famous, it’s written in his gait and the clothes he’s dressed in, and really. Semi has to scoff, because not much has changed about the outlandish Oikawa Tooru.

Suga looks more down-to-earth than any of them—time has treated him well in their years apart. He’s dressed like any other passerby on the street, in jeans and a t-shirt, and Semi can bet money that he’s living like one as well. But he still has the calming voice and charming smile of their old days and because of Suga, Semi finds it easier to believe that they haven’t changed at all.

Oikawa squints at the splattered wall, where Suga stands. “Is that from the music video?” he asks and Suga grins impishly.

“Maybe. We might still have some paint buckets around if you need a reminder,” he teases and Oikawa feigns a terrified expression (or real: Semi’s never been able to tell between Oikawa’s lies and his truths). 

“Not my clothes!” Oikawa whines, a pout sliding onto his face. “Those are designer!”

“Everything you wear is designer, Oikawa,” Akaashi points out, and Oikawa rolls his eyes.

“That’s not the _point,_ Kei-chan! The point is—”

“Okay!” Suga clasps his hands together, like he’s the teacher of a dozen kindergartners. “Break it up you two, and let’s get back to work!”

“What are we even planning to sing?” Akaashi flops down on the floor, spread-eagled. “Something old? Or are we making something new?” 

Semi follows him, dropping cross-legged, as Suga and Oikawa come over from the wall and follow suit. 

“I don’t think we have the time to make something new,” Suga considers thoughtfully, “so we could just sing some old stuff and maybe some of your guys’ new songs?”

“So Eita’s and Tooru’s new music,” Akaashi says. “Between Eita and Tooru, I think we should do Eita’s.”

Oikawa pouts. “Why Ei-chan’s? My music is _clearly_ better.” He swivels a glance back at Semi, apologetic grin on his face. “Just from a biased perspective.”

Semi could swear Akaashi rolls his eyes to the end of the Earth (because it’s a known reaction from Akaashi to Oikawa). 

“I for one, am _not_ jumping around and dancing like a high school girl in a flashy neon outfit on stage,” Akaashi deadpans. “We’re not all chirpy idols, Tooru.”

“Right, I forgot some of you are dead inside.”

 _“Anyways,”_ Suga interrupts. “I think we should start with the basics? Or at least the easiest song?” He rises from his seat on the floor to grab his instrument from home: an electric keyboard. “How about we start with our favorite song, Five from Twelve?”

Semi feels a wry grin curve on his lips and he’s pleased to see the same expressions on his friends’ faces. Maybe this could work out.

“No argument here.”

* * *

**Suga**

“Oikawa, you’re still doing music, aren’t you?” Akaashi says out of the blue. They’ve just paused rehearsal for a few minutes to rest. Things weren’t going well. For some reason, the groove felt off; the songs felt wrong. As Suga was listening to the lyrics he realized how hollow they sounded to his ears all these words later.

_Five from twelve now,_

_And I can’t help but see it._

_You look at me with a pretty pink pout,_

_And I want to lean in and kiss it._

Who wrote these lyrics? Ah, right, they did. They were teenagers at the time and they were pumping out generic love songs to create hits for the charts. Of course this is what they sounded like. 

“Yeah, I’m still doing music. Modeling too,” Oikawa says between sips of water. 

“Ah, I see. If you’re still doing music then how come you haven’t improved?” Akaashi deadpans.

“What?” Oikawa splutters, almost choking.

“You’re ahead.”

“ _What_?”

“Of the beat. You’re ahead of the beat.”

“I knew what you meant.” Oikawa wipes his mouth, indignance in his glare. “I’m never offbeat.”

“As a drummer, I know how to keep a steady tempo. I’m pretty sure it’s you.” Akaashi squints back, fiddling with his drumsticks nonchalantly. 

Oikawa’s grip tightens on his water bottle. “And what have you been doing this past few years? Can’t remember you releasing any solo albums.”

“You always cared more for the recognition than the music,” Akaashi bites back. “Looks like things haven’t changed.”

“Okayyy,” Semi cuts in, “let’s all calm the fuck down.”

Suga, who has been watching this dumpster fire erupt with rapt interest, suddenly snaps. “Not helpful! Everybody, can we take a fifteen minute breather? Akaashi, you take a walk around the parking lot. Oikawa, breakroom. I’m going to the bathroom. When we get back, don’t think we aren’t going to _talk_. We are grown-ass adults and we’re going to act like it.”

* * *

* * *

When they return fifteen minutes later, Suga has set up four stools in a circle. He’s perched in one of them and gestures towards the other ones. “Sit.”

“Yes, sir,” Semi mumbles, but sits anyway.

“So, it seems like we are harboring some resentment towards each other,” Suga starts. “Can we talk about why?”

Akaashi scoffs. “Stop with the therapy bullshit, Suga. We all know you have anger issues just like the rest of us.”

Suga narrows his eyes. “Fine, I’ll go first. I regret spending four years of my life on tour for a genre of music I initially wasn’t even interested in. I regret that it took me away from my family and friends, until I had no close friends remaining who could relate to my life.” 

The silence in the room fills the space awkwardly. “Wow, Suga. You really didn’t hold back,” Oikawa says.

“Your turn.”

Oikawa sighs. “I feel like we were doing good things when we broke up. I mean, our album went platinum and we won two grammys. Why did we end it there?”

“Because of the management,” Semi says plainly, as if it should be obvious, “that had us on a leash like slaves whose sole purpose is to churn out songs and money. Did you forget about that?”

Oikawa’s expression darkens, and he doesn’t say anything in return. Suga feels himself soften a bit at that. Oikawa was the face of the band, almost, with his dazzling smile and effortless charisma. The label kept a tight leash on him because of it. No dating. No wearing unapproved outfits in certain areas of the city. No breaks during press tours. 

Akaashi grimaces. “And the fans. It’s hard for me to be around all of you and not think about how those fans will analyze every interaction to call me heartless or secretly gay.”

Semi sighs. “The music industry was hard on all of us, and we were just teenagers.”

“It wasn’t anybody’s fault that we broke up the band,” Suga hums his agreement. 

Things had been hard for him. He went from a kid in high school to being on magazine covers in the grocery store. He couldn’t even go to the arcade without being documented and followed. The media felt privy to every aspect of his life. His high school best friend Daichi stuck with him, but Suga could tell it was exhausting for him to be dragged into the limelight too. When he fell ill, the tabloids reported on it briefly. That was hard. And then management had expected him to continue touring anyway.

And then there was tour. Suga was on the road making money and trying to love each of his fans and knowing that every show he gave more of himself away. He’d been too busy to be home. Too busy to remember how some things can change in an instant and how you can’t get time back. 

“Well, at least we brought some happiness to our fans while it lasted,” Akaashi says, shifting in his chair uncomfortably. 

It was hard for him to agree to this reunion concert, knowing it would mean he will be in the headlines again. But he also knows that the cause the proceeds go towards will be worth it, especially when the cause is related to his best friend. And, well, his piano students will get to see him on TV, at least. 

“Yeah,” Oikawa agrees. “Let’s just make some bank for lung cancer research.”

“We’re friends, remember?” Suga says gently. “Let’s just have some fun.”

* * *

**Oikawa**

Things get easier after the discussion. The music flows better and the group is more willing to forgive mistakes. 

Oikawa has forgotten how good it feels to just vibe with a team of musicians who are also his friends. After his switch to modeling and making most of his money advertising for luxury brands, he has started to give up control of his artistic vision to the designers or the brands. After all, they created the product, not him. 

But now he’s creating. This song is his. 

“I feel like we’re doing better,” he says after a run of one of their other hits, “Running Highway.”

This song is about being free, about being young. It’s not something he’s ever really known but he sings it with a longing fervor. 

“Yeah,” Akaashi agrees. “Sorry for snapping at you earlier.”

“It’s okay,” Oikawa says. “I get it. You’re a ‘good’ musician. You play jazz and use more than four chords.”

Akaashi shakes his head. “That’s not it. I like music, soulful music. And, yeah, this genre feels a little bit simplistic and superficial. But it makes people happy, and that means something. I’m just nervous getting back into the game.”

“I get that. I don’t want people to think we’re old, or have gone stale.”

Akaashi smiles that wry smile of his. “Then let’s prove them wrong.”

* * *

**Akaashi**

The roar of cheering fills Akaashi ears as he reaches for the first bar of “Five from Twelve”, blasting from the loudspeaker. He can barely hear it over the overwhelming sound of his heartbeat, going _thump thump thump_ , each note reverberating in his chest.

He looks over at his boys as the platform they’re standing on ascends to the stage. Suga is adjusting his microphone, despite having been scolded hundreds of times for the habit. Oikawa shakes out his wrists and grips his guitar, sweat already glistening on his forehead. Semi stands stoically, hands strumming across his bass, but Akaashi knows him well enough to see the adrenaline-fueled fire in his eyes.

He missed this. Missed the feeling of performing with his friends. Missed the magic of making music and joy for a crowd of thousands.

His eyes peek over the stage, and he’s blinded by the lights. The noise of the crowd in front of him suddenly hits him full force, and he almost wants to cry from the power of it. Looking at his sticks, he smiles.

* * *

  
  



End file.
